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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318264">present</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenseven/pseuds/sirenseven'>sirenseven</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>props [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fisting, Bad Person Bruce Wayne, Bondage, Collars, Crying, Daddy Kink, Grooming, Incest, Jason Todd Has Issues, M/M, Pedophile Bruce Wayne, Sexual Abuse, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:02:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenseven/pseuds/sirenseven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bruce is the recipient of a thoughtful gift.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>props [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>present</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There's nothing that much darker here, but this fic does come with the bonus warning that Bruce's perspective is slanted and mega creepy. Take care of yourselves, recognize a lot of the stuff here is awful, and carry on.</p><p>Thanks to beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/go_Devil89/pseuds/go_Devil89">go_Devil89</a> again!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce has a body toned to peak performance and years of training in meditative practices. His resting heart rate is low even compared to younger athletes. With focus, he can slow it to a near-death pace. Facing down the worst monsters Gotham has to offer leaves it unmoved.</p><p>In this moment, standing safe in his own bathroom, it has quickened.</p><p>Bruce carefully scrubs his hands under the dimmed lights, feeling his pulse throb in each motion. His wrists twist and turn under the water. He imagines he can see the blue veins pulsating. A few conversations, suggestive words, vague plans, and his body is already reacting.</p><p>Even when indulging his proclivities, Bruce usually needs notable stimulus before he feels his chest pound. To have it beat so loud preemptively...</p><p>It's Jason. His troublemaker, agitator, provocateur. Bruce works slower than this by himself, painstaking, careful, and steady in his escalation. He does not push beyond what he has already proven. It's Jason who draws it out of him.</p><p>Left alone, Bruce would have dithered for weeks to take this step.</p><p>It still won't do to be hasty. Jason both helps and hinders there; agitator, but also excuse. Bruce can justify crueler actions by relying on Jason to intercept the blame, but has to keep an eye on Jason in the meantime. It's not as hard as his son likes to think. He may have redefined himself in adulthood, cloaked in fury, but Jason is still the devoted protégé.</p><p>Bruce dries his hands with steady motions, betraying none of his thrumming excitement. A deep breath allays his anticipation before he opens the door. The sight stops him in the doorway.</p><p>It has been ages since he was surprised in his own bedroom. The occasional lovers he takes home for appearance's sake are all cut from the same cloth. His Robins follow the dance he sets out—usually. Jason may not be half the wild card he thinks himself, but he does divert from the rhythm and jump ahead. Always to Bruce's tune, though. This time, Jason has outdone himself.</p><p>Bruce hasn't used the restraints in ages. Last time was an adventurous model whose name he barely remembers. She had delighted in exploring what she dubbed his 'toy chest,' and pouted when she realized he had no interest in her beyond one night.</p><p>The cuffs look so much better on Tim.</p><p>Thin strips of leather encircle the boy's wrists, attached to lines leading to the headboard. His legs are free but pulled up, feet flat on the mattress and knees spread. A slim, matching collar of unadorned black wraps around his neck, bruises peaking out above and below. His head and shoulders rest on Jason's lap.</p><p>The older boy sits upright, grinning at Bruce, cock jutting alongside Tim's cheek.</p><p>Tim has drifted half-present all day, but Jason's pestering and pig-tail pulling usually drew responses nonetheless. Tim still registered annoyance in glares and frowns, if nothing else. How Jason managed this, with Tim so pliable...</p><p>Arousal stirring in his gut, Bruce gives him a genuinely impressed look. He feels his quickened pulse straight down to his groin. Jason burns hot under the light of his approval.</p><p>Tilting his head, Bruce allows curiosity to show as well. <em>How did you manage that</em>, it says.</p><p>Jason doesn't smile as easily now, but he has the same dimples he used to. When Bruce sees them, for all Jason has grown he could be fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve again. The look he gives back means to be a cocky, <em>Impressed, eh?</em> but Bruce knows him too well. What it really says is, <em>Do you like it? Did I do well? Are you proud of me?</em></p><p>Bruce smiles back.</p><p>The urge to loose his desires swells. He has to take care while he still can.</p><p>Jason is the attention-seeking problem child, but he has presented a gift. Bruce showing his enjoyment thereof grants approval. Tim, on the other hand, has been deteriorating all weekend, thrown out of his comfort zone and shakier in his position. His eyes hold life now but crinkle, a little lost, and his brow creases in discomfort. Tim first, then, and Jason simultaneously by extension.</p><p>Bruce strips in unhurried motions, then approaches, climbing onto the bed and leaning over gracefully. His hand smooths up the perfect skin of Tim's chest, before resting on the sheets to support himself. He presses the length of their torsos together for the brush of skin, but doesn't drop any weight.</p><p>As if unaware of the cock beside their heads, Bruce presses a chaste kiss to Tim's lips. “You look beautiful.”</p><p>Tim doesn't respond, but his gaze finds purchase on Bruce's face. Aware of his mentor, at least, if not of the world. Bruce thumbs over his bottom lip. He wants the boy...present for this. It's Bruce's gift, and he deserves to enjoy it to its fullest.</p><p>“Are you in any pain?” he asks, straightening between Tim's spread knees.</p><p>It takes Tim a few seconds to answer. Bruce was right to pull him back; he's let the boy drift too easily.</p><p>“No,” he says, eyes vague, on and off Bruce's face.</p><p>“No?” Bruce prompts. He rubs circles in Tim's thighs. God, there's something about the skin. Youth. Tim may be reaching the end of his, but carries it yet. Exuded it when they first met. Jason is barely eighteen, but has lost his, perhaps in his cynicism or perhaps just in his size. Fortunately, Jason retains appeal in other ways.</p><p>Tim speaks slowly, but finds the right answer. “I'm not in any pain.”</p><p>“Feel your wrists,” Bruce says, groping up the outside of Tim's legs to the points of his knees and back down the inside. “Too tight?”</p><p>The clasps between cuffs and rope rattle softly as Tim's hands wiggle against the mattress. Feeling out the limbs steals his attention, and Bruce uses the distraction to look up. Jason's hands curl over Tim's shoulders, muscled chest rising and lowering in the dim light, curl of hair falling over his forehead. Jason lips twitch up when they make eye contact. When Bruce gives the slightest of nods, it turns to a full grin as he lounges back against the headboard.</p><p>“No,” Tim says, wrists settling. Bruce shifts his gaze down again. “Not too tight.”</p><p>“Your neck?” he asks, fingers settling lightly over the collar. The picture he makes... “Does this hurt?”</p><p>Tim breathes deep. He's coming back, answering promptly this time. “It doesn't hurt.”</p><p>“Your hips?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Tim mutters.</p><p>There he is. Bruce plants a kiss to the center of his chest to welcome him back, ignoring the tone. If Tim has something to say, he can say it outright. “Glad to hear it.”</p><p>Bruce doesn't ask the question again as his hands trail inward, rubbing closer and closer to his prize. The battered hole surely aches; asking would be both unnecessary and immaterial. No answer will dissuade him.</p><p>It's rude to deny a gift. Especially after Jason has so thoughtfully wrapped it.</p><p>Bruce leans forward to give him a kiss as well, only mildly disappointed when Jason doesn't budge from the headboard, holds back from deepening it. Always refusing to admit his desire. Bruce can see how much he wants it, though. He'll break eventually. Denial is as effective a lure as reward.</p><p>“Well, get to it,” Jason says against his lips when they split, tone blatantly pleased.</p><p>He pushes Bruce with a hand to the chest, something solid and plastic in his grip. Bruce catches the bottle and shifts back for the best angle, where he can see from Tim's hole up the length of his body. The hours around patrol have let his abused rim rest, but a pink tinge remains.</p><p>It's been ages since Bruce so found himself doing this so insatiably often. He should be too old to want it three, four times a day. It's his boys. They draw it out of him.</p><p>Jason wraps a hand loosely around his cock, knuckles butting against Tim's cheek. Tim tilts his head away, and the sour bite of his expression makes affection swell in Bruce's chest. There is an allure to him being limp and malleable, but Bruce more often is finding he likes the spark of rebellion—and watching it be crushed.</p><p>“Count off for me,” he instructs, lubricating his fingers.</p><p>He should wear a glove for this. Should work up to it in slow escalation. Should thoroughly prepare Tim in advance. Doing none of the above arouses him further. Bruce draws circles around Tim tight hole. When it finally twitches and relaxes, he slides the first finger in.</p><p>“One,” says Tim.</p><p>Ever obedient. Bruce is glad to see Tim's bout as a runaway yesterday won't be repeated—though that doesn't mean his error is fixed. The constant texts to Tim's phone, the determined calls...Bruce would delete the alerts en-route, if he weren't sure Dick would bring them up later. Never happy until he's gathered all the information, Dick. A key piece of Bruce's training turned less than helpful here.</p><p>Bruce wriggles his finger. When Tim stops tensing, there's no resistance whatsoever, but he keeps clamping up again. The barrier is only in his mind.</p><p>It's easy for Bruce to forget his eldest while the younger boys steal attention, but it would be a mistake. Dick is a problem. Bruce doesn't care for the tone of his messages, insisting he won't push, that he <em>understands</em>—as if it's his place to understand Tim. That role belongs to no one but Bruce.</p><p>It was easier with Jason, the boys not nearly so close. Bruce reminded Jason of his older brother's resentment, real or otherwise, whenever possible. Meanwhile Dick's true anger, at Bruce, largely kept him away.</p><p>Not so simple now that it's Tim, who cultivates connections no matter how firmly Bruce warns him away. His team of irresponsible youths, forcibly quashed feelings for Stephanie Brown, tech tips exchanged with Barbara, outreach to Huntress of all people, a tenuous but growing friendship with Cassandra. And Dick. Dick most of all, perhaps because he is exactly the same. The number of times Bruce subtly encouraged him to disband the formerly-teen Titans, and <em>still</em> they keep reuniting to pull Dick's attentions elsewhere...</p><p>That's the real problem. Bruce thrusts his finger sharply in and out, drawing a soft breath above. He can swear it's the closeness to Tim or threat to secrecy that has him annoyed at Dick—and he will need to address both—but he knows it's a lie.</p><p>Much as it galls him to admit it, the only thing that truly upsets him about Dick is that he isn't <em>here</em>.</p><p>Dick may be the prodigal son, but he also holds the title Jason seems to think he's taken for himself: the one that got away. Bruce botched it. His fear of Dick leaving made him push the boy away instead. His subsequent loneliness made him take in Jason without bothering to clear the air. And he never managed to mitigate Dick's anger until Tim pulled them back together.</p><p>He's doing a better job of it this time.</p><p>Jason leans behind his once-derided replacement with a smirk, easy as anything. Bare in body and emotions, Bruce can't detect a hint of anger on him. Like this, it's almost hard to believe he returned in a hail of bullets and blood.</p><p>Tim has finally relaxed. With all he's been stretched by in the past day, Bruce hardly needs to wait for the second finger.</p><p>“Two,” Tim breathes, and Bruce squeezes his thigh in approval.</p><p>Jason grins against the headboard, lightly stroking himself. His cock dribbles precome, which he scoops onto a finger and wipes over the corner of Tim's mouth as Tim grimaces. Jason pets his hair in response, and imitation of affection.</p><p>Devoted protégé. Quick learner. It's funny; Bruce always thought Jason was the <em>least</em> like him.</p><p>Brash. Loud. Needy. Bruce remains skeptical of the viability of this student act he's adopted, but he's never been able to fault the boy for determination. And, to his surprise, he's...found an appeal in so-called partnership. Not to mention what Bruce can do to Tim with two bodies instead of one.</p><p>Bruce splits and closes his fingers like scissors, twisting the hand. There's enough of a give. Tim can handle it. The third finger fits in with only a little effort.</p><p>Tim adjusts his hips, but doesn't pull away. His breathing has shallowed, hands gripping the ropes that bind him, but he still opens right up.</p><p>He swallows. “Three.”</p><p>Bruce is magnanimous enough to know when he has erred, and so can acknowledge the inscription on Jason's memorial may have been hasty. It's Tim who's the good soldier.</p><p><em>No one's hurting me</em>. He brushes against Tim's prostate.</p><p>The hack into Tim's account only reveals texts and voicemails—clearly it's time to properly bug calls as well—but Bruce pulled the camera footage from Tim's room. He watched it half a dozen times, trying to reverse-engineer Dick's side of the conversation. The call has been playing in his head ever since.</p><p><em>I had a crush on you</em>. Bruce twists his hand to spread the fingers more insistently.</p><p>He knows Tim well enough to spot when he's covering something up. Robin didn't recognize the soft touch on patrol as a reward, and Bruce certainly could not admit his reason, but it never hurts to associate happiness with good behavior. Tim made a mistake, and now he is truly trying to remedy it.</p><p><em>I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean it</em>.</p><p>But what exactly didn't he mean? <em>What did you do, Tim?</em> Bruce thinks, staring up the boy's body to his flushed face, lips pressed tight and eyes on the ceiling. Like he'll implant the questions into Tim's brain, force him to answer without having to ask. <em>Did you touch him? Did you let him touch you?</em></p><p>Tim hisses when his fingers curl a little too hard, digging into the soft walls.</p><p>No. No, not his good soldier. And not his prodigal son, either; much as the vision of Dick laying Tim out is arousing, Bruce can't imagine Dick doing that, nor Tim betraying him. For all Bruce finds his reflection in them, they do not share this interest. He gets only one son for that.</p><p>The mattress shifts as Jason moves to lay beside Tim, and Bruce pulls his focus in. Preparation and thought are helpful, but the familiar monotony of opening Tim up won't last forever. Bruce will want to fully appreciate this when they reach the main event.</p><p>Tim's focus too. Bruce frowns at the way his eyes stay fixed on the ceiling even as Jason teasingly bites his shoulder.</p><p>“How does it feel?” Bruce asks, fanning the fingers inside him. The question serves a dual purpose, though neither is about Tim's answer. Forcing him to define the feeling keeps him aware—and Bruce remains enchanted by Tim's blush every time he puts the lewd acts to words. He can almost pretend the boy is an innocent virgin all over again.</p><p>“Uh. Stretched,” says Tim, pink as promised. Jason snorts into his shoulder, before leaning up to move playful nips along his collarbone. Clearly searching for more to describe, Tim adds in a tone more question than answer, “Full?”</p><p>“Not nearly,” Jason mutters. Tim refuses to acknowledge him, eyes holding on Bruce's face.</p><p>“Too full?” Bruce asks.</p><p>There's a heady thrum of power in watching the worry flit across Tim's face. Bruce can practically hear the inner debate: if he says yes, will Bruce be upset or call him a liar? If he says no, will Bruce be encouraged to stretch him further than Tim wants?</p><p>The truth is it doesn't matter. But Tim doesn't know that.</p><p>“It's fine,” he settles with, noncommittal. Bruce pulls out and thrusts in again, dragging his fingertips against Tim's soft hole with firm curls.</p><p>“What about Jason?” he asks, bending them nearly all the way around. “What's he doing?”</p><p>“He's, uh.” Tim hates being pulled into a call and response during sex even when he's not dissociating, which is why it's so very fun. “He's...biting.”</p><p>Bruce glances up, finding Jason's head posed right over Tim's nearest pec. “Biting what? Be specific.”</p><p>Tim's entire face goes red. Bruce can't see Jason's, but imagines he's grinning. He doesn't let his own amusement show, expression that of a patient teacher.</p><p>“He's biting my nipple,” Tim mumbles.</p><p>“Biting hard?”</p><p>“I mean.” Tim catches his breath when Bruce uncurls and rubs insistently over his prostate, but keeps speaking. Good soldier. “He's not drawing blood.”</p><p>“I could,” says Jason.</p><p>Tim rolls his eyes, before hissing at what Bruce assumes is a harsher bite. Still, there's no blood as Jason pulls back. The older boy's eyes dart to Bruce, glittering mischief in them, and then he leans up to Tim's ear. Bruce can hear the whispering but not the words, already fighting the urge to split them up lest there be a secret he doesn't know.</p><p>“You're ready for another,” he interrupts, over the whisper of Jason's voice. Jason glances back.</p><p>“C'mon,” Bruce hears him murmur, curiosity nearly insufferable.</p><p>He pulls out to his fingertips, and thrusts back in with the pinky included. Tim stretches around him to take it all. The sight is nearly impossible to look away from, but with great effort Bruce peers up to see his face as well, taught but determined. Jason watches Tim with bright anticipation, and Bruce feels his own grow.</p><p>“Four,” Tim says. He swallows, hesitates. “Four, daddy.”</p><p><em>God</em>. His cock aches, pulse throbbing to the tip. Bruce has to bury his face against the inside of Tim's thigh, sucking in a breath. He presses a hard kiss to the sensitive skin, sucking in a mark, and yanks out his fingers.</p><p>“Good boy,” as he shifts up to kiss the nipple Jason neglected. “My good boy,” brushing Tim's hair off his face, hard cock nestling in the crease of the boy's hip as he leans down to his mouth.</p><p>This, at least, Tim still reciprocates, taking Bruce's affection and praise and probing tongue like a desperate, lost child. The smear of Jason's precome blurs between them. Bruce catches him loosely over the collar, soft leather against his palm. <em>Mine</em>. Rattling signals Tim's wrists shifting again, perhaps wanting to embrace him in return.</p><p>When Bruce tips his mouth away, Jason remains just to the side, watching them. It's only natural to shift over, still pressed to Tim as he takes Jason's mouth too. <em>Mine</em>. A tight grip falls on his shoulders as Jason surges up, trying to give as good as he gets. Hideously desperate for control. Beautifully helpful in cementing Bruce's.</p><p>If this is the kind of wildly effective assistance he lends, Jason can absolutely have a pony and all the video games he wants.</p><p>He pushes Bruce up without separating their mouths, shifting them to sit. Bruce allows himself to be repositioned between Tim's legs, Jason clamoring across to press against his side. He wraps an arm around his son's waist. Every part of Jason has grown large and firm; without planning it, Bruce's other hand falls to the supple, young skin of Tim's thigh again.</p><p>Jason's mouth shines in the lamplight when they pull apart, chest visibly rising and lowering. Bruce wonders if he can hear his own heartbeat echoing too.</p><p>“Left your boy empty,” Jason murmurs.</p><p>Tim has gone very quiet in their distraction. He swallows when attention falls back to him.</p><p>The sharp click of the bottle opening breaks loud through the silence. Jason hastily smears lubricant on his fingers. Bruce uses the opportunity to slick the rest of his hand. Tangling their hands together, Jason guides two fingers from each inside. The girth with Jason's first two fingers is larger than with Bruce's last two, but they can hug closer together. He's still entranced by the stretch.</p><p>Bruce expects Jason to insert himself further into the act, but Jason seems as amped-up as Bruce is. Always has mirrored his moods. Amped-up for Jason means mercurial, and after only a few thrusts he tugs out and encourages Bruce to replace his fingers again.</p><p>Tim's lips stay tight, sounds smothered. Aware and in control. Which means he's still breakable. The thought makes Bruce desperate to touch himself, but he has more control than his erratic teenagers. As his fingers slip inside one by one, he knows he'll be better served by delayed gratification—much as he aches to give up on the plan and fuck himself into Tim instead.</p><p>Jason hooks his chin over Bruce's shoulder, watching intently. The points of his fingers dig around Bruce's hips, span larger than he's used to.</p><p>“Give him more,” Jason says, when Bruce has worked pointer to pinkie back in.</p><p>Tim looks up. “What?”</p><p>“'What' what?” says Jason.</p><p>Bruce largely ignores them, focused on the twitching rim around his fingers as he presses them deeper. Trying to get it around the base knuckles is like fighting a vice. Bruce twists and re-angles to try again.</p><p>“What do you mean <em>more?</em>”</p><p>“Ask him.” Jason shifts against his side, head leaning away.</p><p>“Bruce.” Tim tries to catch his eye up above. Bruce pretends not to notice. He's busy, watching Tim finally stretch over the bumps of his knuckles. The boy inhales sharply.</p><p>“Even you can't be that forgetful, kid,” says Jason. “What'd I say?”</p><p>Tim scowls in the corner of his vision, but it breaks over a soft grunt as Bruce's hand slips further in. The center of his palm is easy after the knuckles.</p><p>Jason scoffs against Bruce's shoulder. “Memory of like a goldfish, this kid. Not sure he can count how many fingers are on a hand either.”</p><p>Bruce holds back a smile only because Tim is watching. Somehow, he has become the more volatile of the boys, liable to react poorly should he see one hint of mockery. Whereas Jason missing out on a positive reaction this one time will only make him try harder.</p><p>“Wait,” Tim starts.</p><p>“One more,” Jason interrupts. “You still know how to count that high, right?”</p><p>When he draws back to his mid-fingers, Bruce can plaster his thumb right against them. Wedging the tip inside isn't even difficult, though he feels firmer resistance soon after. Tim's cuffs rattle, legs twitching.</p><p>“I don't hear a count,” Jason sing-songs.</p><p>“Five,” Tim says. Jason clears his throat loudly and Tim's expression sours again, though his wrists continue moving in unconscious distress. “Five, daddy.”</p><p>Bruce would prefer his tone with a little less bite, but the note of pleading more than compensates. He's so close—to his goal and his release. Just the large knuckle of his thumb, the widest part of his hand, presents an obstacle.</p><p>“I—I think that's enough,” says Tim. “That's enough, right?”</p><p>“Don't worry,” Bruce soothes, eyes locked on his hole. “You'll like it.”</p><p>“I don't...” Tim hesitates. Reluctant. But his desire to be good will always win out eventually; it just takes a little patience and a little attention. Bruce finally meets his gaze, searching Tim's face like he really wants to know, like he's really going to listen. He softens his own expression, hand pausing.</p><p>The hesitation is theatrical. And calculated.</p><p>Jason takes the bait. “Do it.”</p><p>He nudges into Bruce's shoulder, urging him onward. His eyes brighten when they meet, pupils blown. Bruce steals another quick kiss, before flashing Tim a note-perfect expression of apology.</p><p>He will, of course, understand why Bruce couldn't possibly refuse.</p><p>Tim lets out a hurt sound when Bruce shoves in the knuckles of his fingers again, hitting halfway down his thumb. He pulls back just that single inch to repeat the thrust, slightly easier the second time. Tim's legs jerk and finally fall out of position, heels scuffing against the sheets. Bruce catches one knee with his free hand to keep it from kicking. Jason leans up to clamp onto Tim's hips, holding them flat to the mattress as Tim tries to squirm, and Bruce ducks lower to give him room.</p><p>Pushing, pushing, forcing that red rim to spread just a hint wider. Finally it opens around his thumb, and just like that Bruce shoves in. Sheathed to his wrist.</p><p>It's Tim who's done the hard part, whimpering on each pant, but Bruce finds himself breathing heavily too. He draws back slowly, just before that widest stretch, and thrusts in again. It's heady. Tim gasps, mouth wide, as Bruce repeats the motion in steady precision. With each thrust, he curls his fingers back slightly more.</p><p>He's not going to last. Any plans to delay his release are abandoned in favor of the knowledge he will come soon, with his fist buried inside Tim.</p><p>Jason, his good, loyal, dutiful son seems to notice. His hands leave Tim's hips as he plasters himself against Bruce's side and reaches around to grasp his cock. Bruce moans to finally be touched. His thrusts speed up, his hand finally curled into a rough fist, his knuckles molding out Tim's walls. Jason jacks him with perfect pressure.</p><p>Bruce leans into Jason, fist thrusting into his youngest—<em>his</em> boy. His son. Tim may not admit it, and Jack Drake may not know it at all, but Tim is <em>his</em> and no one else's. His good boys.</p><p>“Good,” Bruce breathes, voice rough, and finally releases.</p><p>Jason strokes him through to the end, as Bruce paints over Tim's thigh and pelvis. With great focus, he keeps his fist moving. The boys are both hard he notes, Tim's bobbing in exertion, Jason's pressed to his side. Tim's eyes bead with oversensitive tears, head thrown back.</p><p>“You're going to come like this,” Bruce says. Physical exhaustion pulls at him, but his mind will not rest until he has wrung Tim out, gotten everything from this.</p><p>Tim shakes, both his head and his entire body, tears beading in his eyes. “I don't—Please—Daddy—”</p><p>Panting over Tim's knee, Bruce thrusts forcefully, twists the ridges of his fingers against his prostate with sadistic precision. He forces the orgasm out of Tim in overwhelming sensation, groan growing in the boy's chest and cracking on a yell by the end.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm so proud of you,” Bruce murmurs to Tim minutes later, laid up by his head as Jason fucks into his stretched-out hole. “You did so well. You didn't let the fear win. My good boy.”</p><p>Tim twists his head into Bruce's chest. Leaving him alone is always the problem. Bruce shouldn't have abandoned him yesterday morning, allowed him to stew and regret and get crazy ideas like running off to Blüdhaven. Tim is intensely vulnerable after sex—so was Jason, in his position—and perhaps all the more suggestible to affection for it. In this moment, when Bruce unclips his cuffs, flinging them aside, and wraps the boy in his arms, Tim clings on like he's never going to let go.</p><p>Jason finishes quickly, clearly just as aroused by the scene as Bruce. Tim flinches when he moves to lay down on his other side as usual, and Bruce catches Jason mid-motion.</p><p>Of course he resists being moved at first, but when he realizes he is being pulled atop Bruce, Jason relents. It's the sort of worthless concession that Jason finds great meaning in—leaning over Bruce instead of underneath, as if that makes it any more his decision.</p><p>Bruce holds around his face, thumb rubbing the cheek. It's the same face, but so grown. Cheekbone more defined without baby fat to obscure it. Rough stubble under his palm.</p><p>He doesn't need to act any further. Jason closes the distance for him, into a long and wet kiss. It's so easy after that to gently nudge him to the side. Jason rolls away when they part, but their elbows still brush. Tim curls up under Bruce's other arm, heedless of the mess still in and over him, barely crying anymore. Between his boys at last.</p><p>Credit where credit is due, he must attribute some portion of the joy to Jason. Bruce mentions fisting once, and Jason makes it happen the very next day. Bruce pushes and pushes and <em>hurts</em>, and Jason soaks up the ensuing resentment like a sponge. Tim lays his head over Bruce's chest. He's still wearing the collar.</p><p>Definitely a pony. Maybe two. Or whatever it is you buy an adult son who has done well.</p><p> </p><p>–</p><p> </p><p>In the morning, Bruce wakes up before the alarm and silently slips out of bed to carry Tim to the bathroom. The boy blinks blearily against his chest, never a morning person.</p><p>“I can walk on my own,” he says.</p><p>Having run through this script a hundred times, Bruce replies, “Let me take care of you, Tim.”</p><p>So it's as easy as that. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast and teeth brushed and all the morning routines. Tim heads to his own room to pack up his bag, and Bruce catches him inside the door as he's swinging the backpack on. He smiles softly, until Tim mirrors the expression, eyebrows raised in question.</p><p>“I won't be able to patrol with you tonight,” Bruce says.</p><p>Tim's face falls. “Oh.”</p><p>“I wish I could,” Bruce says genuinely. He knows Tim can handle a night alone after the mental reset of a school day, but Bruce would still prefer to stay close. Other matters call, though. Far less honestly, he explains, “The JLA wants me to go over my investigation again.”</p><p>“Right,” Tim says, nodding.</p><p>“Hey.” Bruce catches his face. Same young skin; thumb over the still softened cheekbone, not yet growing facial hair every day. When Tim looks at him, he bleeds the need to be needed, and Bruce is always ready to fill that gap. “Thank you. I know it's been a confusing weekend for you, but I don't know what I'd do without you.”</p><p>Tim leans into his hand. Bruce holds that sensation in his palm even after Tim has stepped out the front door, Alfred driving him off into the wide world.</p><p>When he returns to his bedroom, Jason is finally sitting up, hair still rumbled and face imprinted with the pillow's creases. He looks around the room before squinting up at Bruce.</p><p>“Where's the kid?” he asks.</p><p>Bruce raises his eyebrows in judgment. “It's Monday. He's at school.”</p><p>Jason, as always, falters and then steels back up at the implied insult to his intelligence. “Yeah. Right.”</p><p>Before he can wake up enough to become irritable, Bruce glides over to him for a deep and forceful kiss. Jason catches up after a moment, grasping handfuls of Bruce's shirt to hold him close, and then shoving him away.</p><p>“Alfred kept breakfast warm for you,” Bruce says, belaying whatever Jason meant to say and redirecting to safer topics. “I think he mentioned showing you the remodels to the library when he returns, if you're up for it.”</p><p>Jason grunts, shifting off the bed. “I'm taking a shower.”</p><p>It's not a no. Practically the same as agreement.</p><p>“Jason,” Bruce says, stopping him as he reaches the bathroom doorway. He's had a month to adjust to it, but the mere ability to speak his son's name again still fills some part of his heart long left empty. “Last night was...” Revelatory. A perfect gift.</p><p>“Thank you," he finishes. "I don't know what I'd do without you.”</p>
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